Goon 2
by rememberthekey
Summary: Because people don't change that quickly, and LaFlamme's nice but not that nice, and Doug's still an idiot, and Eva isn't built for being faithful. First work :)
1. Baby steps

Doug's parents called him back to reality a few days after they beat out the Shamrocks. They were doctors and they confirmed that Doug had a broken ankle, and was going to be off the ice for at least four months- conceivably the rest of the season and change. Mrs Glatt attempted to console the crestfallen team by making them cookies; but she was a horrible baker and as a result the cookies didn't cheer up anyone, least of all Eva.

For Eva had realised that Doug was like a golden retriever. You don't mistreat a dog, because it only forgives you and then you feel like shit, or it won't fight back and then you feel like shit. Eva had had a little terrier like that once, but her parents split up and the dog went with her dad, who was far more practical at caring for things. But anyway, her wandering mind announced, Dougie was the most loyal dog ever. And he was going to be unhappy cooped up off the ice. So that meant she had to do something about it.

Eva became a Nice Girl. She wasn't great at it, terrible at cooking and giving him welcome home hugs, always forgetting to hide her crates of beer or shut up when the fights came on. She told his parents to fuck off in about as many words when they came over one evening. But she tried, and Eva could tell Doug appreciated it when he snuffled into her hair and grinned at her, the lopsided little smile with a fake plastic tooth. She loved his battle scars, and his simplicity. Her warrior dog was home for a rest.

One lazy sunshine afternoon, Eva was kicking her feet around with a soccer ball, taking her mind off work. She worked as the store manager for Priceworld, and god was it awful. Self pass, slam, score, rebound, go.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket- a text from Doug.

'_Xav is sounding really low and needs to talk to a girl. Do you know anybody?' _Intrigued, she called him but it went straight to voicemail.

"Goddamnit Dougie!" Eva hissed, auburn hair swishing out of her eyes, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance.

The truth was Eva was not so much a Nice Girl as she tried to be. And Doug's roommate was temptation on legs. Xavier LaFlamme, Quebecois sex god, first class asshole and absolute master of hockey… even thinking about him tested her limits. _For Doug, for Doug_ she told herself, fully aware that if she didn't, Xavier would be so so so easy to come to… come for… oh Fuck. Being a Nice Girl sucked.

_Incoming call- Doug Glatt_

"Eva? Hey Eva?"

"Hi Doug. Why'd I go to voicemail?" She grins, loving the simple affection present in his voice.

"Ahum… Xavier and I were talking."

"You were talking?"

"Right, and I… I was wondering if you had any friends, because he would really like to find a fi-" the phone crackled and LaFlamme's gorgeously broody French accent was heard saying "I don't need no fucking whore friends of your whore, you fucktard. I can find my own puck bunnies!"

"Captain says you give single mothers herpes in a parking lot." Doug's voice is smiling, but slightly stilted- awkward, like they've just talked more in detail about something. Eva is immediately drawn to the dirtiest train of thought imagineable.

Xavier huffs off in an explosion of indignant passionate fury. She wants that passion lathered all over her.

"Eva? You still here?"

"I'm still here Doug. Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, I guess he doesn't want to talk to a girl anymore. He's going to play hockey."

And that, indeed, was precisely what Xavier LaFlamme did, which is where this story begins.

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He's got his skinny jeans and beanie on, not even bothering to change into his full hockey kit. Just brings his skates, freshly sharpened and worn in and ready for ice. He stopped in at a Tim Hortons on the way to the rink and grabbed a mocha, which explains the small smug smile on his face. Montreal never beat this shit.

The rink seems empty, coz most people have jobs on a Thursday morning and so it is very easy to hop the turnstile and slide into the changing rooms' back entrance. The rink is still perfect. Nobody has been on since the Zamboni.

He changes into his skates and laps the ice, flying round and round and round, twisting and turning and using his footwork skills, crossovers and backwards and in any way he can think of. He can skate and he is fast.

Soon LaFlamme loses himself to the ultimate freedom of being able to move. This is where he can think- where it isn't really thinking but reacting, just using instincts and drills to respond in creativity. He has been doing this for so long that he doesn't feel tired at all, merely awake and throbbing with adrenaline and being alive. Hockey makes him feel alive.

He has to think now, about what to do about the Highlanders. His game is back and he's still young. He has attention again, coaches and managers talking about money for playing. But LaFlamme knows that it's really Doug who gave him the confidence back. Doug was the real reason that they won against the Shamrocks, against Rhea. It's strange now, that Ross 'The Boss' Rhea doesn't shake him like he used to. He was never pansy terrified, not even Quebec scares him (that he'll admit) but Rhea was an obstacle that he couldn't quite get over. It's thanks to Doug now that he can.

When the offers come in, and there will be offers for contracts, he needs to know whether he will say yes or no. LaFlamme closes his eyes and skates slower, in time to the beat in his head, knowing the dimensions of the rink so well that he never needs to falter. Does Doug really limit my success? Will the team survive without me? The money is enough. Can I be better?

That last one makes him smile. Yes, said his mother, you can always be better. He drifts to a slow elegant halt, one leg nonchalantly taking all his weight, and suddenly the focus is back outside on the world, and he knows. He knows that at heart Xavier LaFlamme is an arse and a cutthroat hockey player who will do anything to become better. He is 26. That is still enough time.

He opens his eyes. He is not alone.

A girl sits dangling her legs on the edge of a seat, head resting on a propped up elbow, watching him lazily.

He is sure she will recognize him, because let's face it the Highlanders are the team around here and he is their sexy as fuck scorer. But in fact her face does not change from the passive curiosity, and he awkwardly skates off the ice, feeling her gaze as a weight on his shoulders.

Xavier sneaks a look around at her once more as he undoes the laces on his skates. She is staring at the ice now. Not hot, exactly. There's too weird a vibe coming off her to be hot. But she's got long dark hair that he can wrap his fingers in and a little pink mouth. The pale skin, now that he's judging her, would be really hot to see getting flushed. Eyes are too dark to see more of at the moment and she has delicate forearms.

He deliberately leaves his jacket where it is as though forgotten.

"uh.. Sir! You left your jacket."

_Target locked._

"Ah merci Madamoiselle, je ne sais quoi j'ai pensé." He turns to fetch it, and flashes her his smile that he knows makes women weak at the knees. She blushes and then frowns. Silence, while he zips up and dons the beanie.

"Je suis desolée, mais je ne parle Francais, nur un petit peu comprende." Xavier mentally grins. He's looking for action tonight, and this is the luck of the draw. She's obviously interested, because she's drawing out the interaction. And this is a perfect chance to come closer to her.

He walks up the aisle of the benchers and ducks his head, as though embarrassed.

"That is ok, I speak English too. You have a really pretty accent." Doug is rubbing off on him- no clever word plays, just simple statement. He does like the foreign way that she enunciated every word, as if careful to make sure her language is understood. But honestly? Pffft, he understands mangled death threats through mouthguards, she doesn't need to bother.

She nods back at him, hesitating, and he waits for her to give her name, just considering all the sexy variations-

"Could you teach me to skate?"

His jaw hangs open. Of all the things he was expecting her to blurt out, that was not one of them. Xavier scratches the back of his head and there is an awkward silence again.

"Uh, I guess. I am not a teacher though and I have no time."

Her face, previously hardened up and expecting rebuttal, blooms into youth and vibrant joy. He notices suddenly that she is properly young, like 17 or 18. Beyond his reach young. Her hands clasp together unconsciously in excitement and it for some reason makes him content, as though this pose is the right way of things.

"I knew it! You just skate unconsciously. You have to be a hockey player to skate like that, it just emanates from you, ya know?"

"I am the scorer for the Highlanders," he nods, drawing himself up to his full height, "so maybe no surprise." Now that the girl is off limits, he ponders the question using his head and not his dick. She is not his usual teammate, slighter than even he is. But compared to other girls, he has no idea. She is definitely not the usual girl he 'gives herpes in a parking lot'. _There hasn't really been anyone else, except for Amelie…_

_Amelie is long gone though_. So he sighs and asks her if she's got skates, she comes out onto the ice and.

_Wow. Cette femme a putain jambes, la merde!_

Yes he swears a lot, but she's immediately low to the ice and he can see strong defined quads and calves and a keen sense of balance. That's good, plus points to her already.

The girl is also leaning forward awkwardly, hesitant to move too fast for fear of falling over. _Oh chouchou, _he smirks,_ you have to be able to think and your body just does. Imagine doing the limbo under a stick? By the time you imagine, I moved. That's how fast it is, the puck is just a concept, too fast to really see more than its effects._

Xavier has never had to teach that ease of movement to someone. Sure, he can talk through power plays and three on two movements enough to enlighten even Doug, but this is just way too basic. He scratches his chin, unsure on how to proceed.

"Turn your toes owt, like this. Like you are the ballerina, and push. Non, dig into the ice, use the edge of the skate." She stumbles, and he lunges forward and then catches himself. Let her fall.

All that's happened is she has wet knees. Not the worst symptom. She huffs, and Xavier waits to see how she'll get back up again.

He circles around her as she attempts to place one foot firmly only to see it slip away again, absentmindedly more concerned with discovering how his abdominal muscles twist when he goes in circles. Xavier has been playing and skating unconsciously for so long that now he's taking the time to consciously learn how he moves.

She flicks the hair from in front of her eyes impatiently and tries again- once, twice, thrice- before managing to propel herself into a crouch that is unstable but at least off the floor.

"I thought you were gonna teach me…" she grouses. Xavier rolls his eyes and hoiks her up with one hand into a standing position, never losing his balance for a moment. The girl sighs, gratefully, and for some reason that sigh seeps into his bones, leaving a trail of warmth, leaving a silent observation that he might have a little more time for this one.

"I can't make you learn how to move," he says after a pause, "that's something you will need to teach yourself. I'm not good at the basics."

"The basics suck though. I want to learn to skate the way you do!"

And Xavier finds this funny, starts thinking of the way he learnt to skate, and before he knows it he's laughing, a deep throated chuckle that reverberated round and round before leaping out of his mouth. Through watering eyes he notices the girl frown at him and attempt to move again, and her guts only makes him laugh even more.

"Mais tu ne voulais vraiment pas à apprendre à patiner comme je le fais, comme un fils de pute de badass."

He reverted to French in his moment of weakness. She remains there, watching, arms folded now that she can stand steady. Unamused scowl on her face, and Xavier dimly realises that teenaged girls have sensitive souls and must never never ever be laughed at. She wouldn't understand he was laughing at himself, and the way he plays things.

"Mister, what's your name?"

"Eh, it is not importante." And with that sense of finality looming over his head, Xavier turns around and skates off the ice, trotting past the bleachers. She doesn't let him go just yet though (_'damn women, always ruining my exits!'_) yelling out words that are distorted by the cavernous shape of the rink.

"Hey what the fuck? I was just trying to be nice! My name's-"

He tunes her out and keeps on walking. It feels good to be such a bitch again.

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**A/N: I watched Goon and fell in love. So this is a continuation of the saga, because we know Xavier is nice but not that nice, and Doug doesn't heal instantaneously, and Eva is not a Nice Girl. People change, but not that quickly.**

**Would love a review or two :3 **

**~rememberthekey**


	2. Sleeping arrangements

In practice Xavier should be perfect now. But when he returns to the flat he and Doug share, he's needing a cigarette, and Doug wants to stop him and purlease- by now you should know that when Doug doesn't want something to happen it gets physical quick.

So Xavier is stuck in his room, craving his packet, too cheapskate to go out and buy some more, and impatiently waiting for Doug to stop patrolling outside his room like some legend guard dog.

"Doug?" he calls, slumping down on the bed sulkily, "I'm OK, I'm not gonna get any more."

Doug doesn't believe him for a whole other ten minutes. Apparently he's been listening to Eva's cynical rants about boys will be boys.

Xavier uses that time wisely. He sends a text to his mom asking how the bible readings club went, scrolls through the facebook feed and comments on an old friend of his' high school photos. Xavier never was very photogenic, always preferring to hide behind his helmet or food, but there are a few crackers that make those times seem golden. Francois the old bully remarks caustically that times haven't changed much, but everyone who went to his high school would very much agree that they have.

_For one thing, I am a hockey player._

Xavier was not always so.

Sure, he played- who didn't?- but in his teenage years his secret passion was-

Doug relents and opens the door, waving a box of Twinkles at him, and introspection is suddenly massively overrated.

"TWINKIES!" Xavier roars, thrusting himself up into a battering ram position on one lean arm, thoroughly prepared to take Dougie on for the treats, stance lowered just like when avoiding enemy enforcers.

Doug grins, "I thought you'd like them. They don't make Twinkies any more." and he holds them high above his head, the cardboard packaging shifting slightly and Xavier hears the glorious crinkle of plastic wrappers.

OOF

Xavier pounces, eyes narrowed in mock battle, swiping for the treats. Doug doesn't give in easily, moving out of reach as soon as it becomes feasible to get them. They face off again in the corridor, Doug sinking into his grappling moves.

"Say please" he says, and Xavier swears in French at him, then coughs, looking to the treats innocently. "I did."

As soon as Doug's concentration is broken he manages to rip one out of the cardboard holding, and triumphantly holding it aloft proceeds to squawk around in a victory dance. Normally his victory dances come with hockey sticks, but he improvises with an umbrella instead, whooping and raising it above his head with the Twinkie.

He only stops when he hears raw, human laughter from across the hall.

"LaFlamme?"

"Ee-vah." He nods at her sagely and wanders down to greet her. He's never been as keen on Eva as she is on him, which is fine- Xavier is totally accepting of that kind of inequality. She on her part is inclined to keep herself restrained to a mere kiss on the cheek mwah-mwah, hands still stuffed in her pockets because she forgot gloves.

Doug lumbers after him, and sweeps Eva up in a monstrous hug. They kiss, and when they break away Doug is resting his forehead on Eva's, an adoring glint in his eye. They're talking too quietly for him to hear. Xavier looks away, wrinkling his nose. He likes sex, can stand relationships, but romance is just a bit much for him. It hits too close to the part of him he saves for Amelie.

Turning away into the living room again, Xavier stretches and cracks his knuckles, snapping and clicking. The noise disrupts the cuddle reunion and his mate is back again, grabbing a few beers, while Xavier munches on a Twinkie. Eva looks over at him and holds her hand out for one. He clutches the box closer to his chest, shaking his head stubbornly.

"LaFlamme's gone all preteen on us" Eva mocks but he notices her brush a strand of hair behind her ear and swallow at his forearms, rippling with muscles.

He raises an eyebrow at her, warning her to control herself, and she flushes. There is an unspoken agreement that they will talk later.

Doug swells his beer and they sit companionably around the sofa. The TVs not on, so Xavier is kinda confused why, but he doesn't complain. The moments tick by and finally Eva wrings her hands and folds them on her lap.

"Doug's parents wanted us to think about, uh, getting serious. You know."

Xavier smirks.

"Marriage?"

"Uhhuh." She swallows, visibly nervous. Xavier knows all about her smutty past. That can't be easy for her. She finds it difficult enough to stay loyal to Doug as it is, let alone with the pressures of a marriage ring.

"I am happy for you," he leers, and she gives him the look from under her lashes that says she knows exactly what's going through his head and she is better than that. The sort of moral high ground look that dumped females often possess around Xavier.

Doug breaks in on their silent communication-

"But I think it might be better if we move in together first. So I guess I wanted to ask you if you minded Eva here or a higher rent more. Um, I mean- which you thought suited you best, eh?"

Xavier considers.

"How much time do I have to decide? Non offense to Eva but it ees a big decision."

Doug's face beams into an easy grin, and he scratches his stubble.

"There isn't really a time, but just let me know when you come find an answer."

Xavier winks at him and mouths, '_Stomach_ _light_.' He is fairly sure of his choice already but he wants to tease Eva a bit more. She is cute when she blushes.

Shrugging that awfully mushy thought off, he cracks his neck and tells Doug he'll be with the team for a bit, giving them some space. He musses his hair up and looks himself in the mirror of their flat. He'll have to thank his father, whoever he is, for the physical attributes he has. The only thing that faintly resembles his mother is his neck line and the collarbones hidden beneath his leather jacket.

_I could use a shave. _

He shrugs, because even though he could do with one, he's too lazy to and the girls come anyway. He's on the prowl tonight after practice. He has just one criterion- she has to be loud.

Laflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflamme

Being a French Canadian outside of Montréal has never really bothered Xavier before. When he was growing up, he was surrounded by other bastard children like himself, and then there was hockey, and when he started shifting down the leagues, he was too into his drugs and pussy to care that the other players weren't all his nationality.

He slips into the nearest bar he can find, The Anchored Base. Halifax doesn't have great alcohol joints, probably because its founders were dour Scots who abhorred any sort of fun. This one is decentish when you're wasted and not great to begin with.

He takes a shot off the bartender who flicks his hoodie back casually and starts making hockey talk, letting everyone know who's there tonight. A few puck bunnies make their way over to him and ask him questions. One is much more interested in Belchior than him, and he grins with amusement, happy to fan the flammes for their goalie. Belchior has a hard time with the Russian twins always pranking him, and he's pretty far from home. Course, he is a right wuss, but he makes a valid point that the team doesn't look out for him as much as it should. This is LaFlamme's bizarre contribution to the team, picking up chicks and directing them to the right guy.

He casually offers Leanne the chance to come to the end of practise one day next week and her smile lights up his vision- before she collects herself and realises this seems like Xavier is making a move on her. She eyes him up and down for two seconds, but when his gaze remains genuine and platonic, eases herself a little. Perhaps it's OK to go after all.

Xavier meets a redhead whose eyebrows are somehow the most entrancing thing he's seen all night. They're painted on artfully and although his mother warned him never to hang out with fake girls from all the diseases he might catch, he's tempted by this one. She says her name is Angela or Anna or something, he forgets within two seconds.

She's draped over him, this warm human coat smelling of strong liquor and weak perfume, and his hands are somehow on her hips, admiring how soft she is, how completely unmuscled she feels. Her thigh is long and lean and skinny, just a bone with bare amounts of tendons to move it, and it's about as thick as his forearm. He traces patterns up along it, wondering how she can function being so anatomically weak.

She shifts closer, mistaking his interest for something other, and what the heck he's drunk so he leans in to draw up her jaw with his nose. She turns to kiss him, and it just tastes like rum and coke, and Xavier murmurs in her ear- "Shall we take this someplace quieter?" And as hoped, her eyes fly open and those beautiful eyebrows arch in surprise that he's so forward. _What canna say... I am le god. _She flushes pale pink and stage whispers back "Maybe. I can be too loud sometimes."

Somehow they stumble to his and Dougie's place, exactly as he hoped, and she manages to do so without breaking a heel. At this point they're giggling uncontrollably, him taller than her taking strides across the threshold to her room. She hastily mutters something about a nice place before falling onto the bed, stripping with clumsy unsteady fingers.

Xavier watches her, feeling the proud beast inside him unfurl, wanting to dominate and use and abuse and lose himself in just moving. He rips his shirt over his head, throbbing and being harsher than he intended with her in the process. It's just urgent need fuelling him now.

He doesn't use a condom, assuming she's on the pill. Her mouth falls open and the noises that she makes, while not screams, are low moans and ragged cries and loud enough for his purposes. He builds her up to the brink, leaves her and restarts again. In his experience they like it better that way.

Laflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflamme

Xavier wakes up and pads out of his room, boxers flung on sleepily. Eva is making breakfast in the kitchen, scrambled eggs for her and Doug. She gives him a murderous glare and kicks his shins so he steps fully into the kitchen, where they can't be heard over the crackles of the frying pan.

"Sleep well?" she hisses caustically, and he winks at her. "Very. I am correct in assuming you didn't?"

"What do you think, bastard! D'you have a thing for loud girls or something?!"

His lips only crack a little twitch of a smile, but it's enough for Eva to cotton on to the fact it was deliberate. She huffs and quickly dishes the eggs from the pan, turning off the heat so that it's just the quiet pop of the butter/ oil mixture.

Task done, the brunette whirls round to face him and delivers a vicious poke to the chest.

"I hear enough from you anyway, I don't need to hear how you fuck!"

"I'm sorry if you couldn't stand to hear how good I make a woman feel."

"You sick bastard Dougie had to listen to that shit."

Xavier winces internally because Doug is innocent, kinda, got this little glow about him that makes him prefer soup and beer and cuddles to any form of debauchery that Xavier indulges in. Externally, however, his face never flickers from his passively pleasant look.

Eva breathes in deep, heaving air through her lungs in an effort to carry the indignation and embarrassment away. She realises that actually, this is Xavier LaFlamme we're talking about. To him, loud sex isn't such a big deal. He used to bring hookers over so she guesses he's toned down a lot.

The moment she thinks she might have been overreacting, she feels a spike of guilt.

"Eh I guess what I mean is could you turn it down a bit."

Xavier will never admit it to Eva, but yes his loud sex was deliberate. He will have wild screaming fucks and joints and parties with French rap. Some of his old mates who didn't enter into hockey with him come round every once in a while and they're practically in the mob. He's a monster, in many ways. She has to deal with that if she's going to properly move in with Doug.

'I will try."

She doesn't meet his eyes but gazes, plump cheeks reddened, at the scowling streak across his shoulder. Hickey isn't the right word for it, it's more wound than bruise. Eva catches herself and says abruptly, "you could use some concealer on that. It's in my bag by the door."

Xavier moves to go get it, aware that how he likes it can be a little dangerous if he doesn't sanitize the battle scars. While he's bending over to get the bag, his bedroom door opens.

The girl from last night looks way worse than he does. Her hair (dyed well, now that he can see the roots clearly) is frazzled and tangled, eyes over bright and framed by heavy tracts of mascara. She stands there awkwardly for a moment, entrancing eyebrows furrowed in remembrance.

She sees Eva before him and squeaks.

"Hi there, I'm Eva. I'm LaFlamme's roommate," Eva offers with an easy smile, "Can I get you some eggs?"

"Angela. That'd be fantastic- is there anything I can do to help out?"

"Sit and look Purdy?"

They laugh, hesitantly, and Xavier decides to shrug on his lighter jacket so that he's not in juuuust his boxers to meet this Angela for the second time.

"Allo."

"Hey." Angela nods at him, and even though she's slightly unsettled by Eva's presence she's an old hand at One Night Stand talk, asking for a cigarette and chatting about work. She leaves after sampling Eva's eggs and as Xavier closes the door behind her Eva says that he owes her one.

Xavier thinks, au contraire, Eva owes him one. He's willing to let her move in.

LaFlammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflammelaflamme

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! While Xavier is a full hot blooded male, and a therefore sex is a part of his life, I didn't want to make this a smutty scene. It's not really porn-centric, more about the night before and morning after interactions. **

**Yeah, I've made Xavier a bit darker than is shown in Goon. I would argue that Goon is filmed through Doug's simplistic point of view and so letting Xavier take the reins of the narrative you would have quite a different take on the same events.**

**Do rate and review!**

**~rememberthekey **


	3. Murmurs of dissent

MURMURS OF DISSENT

Xavier says nothing when Eva starts bringing more of her stuff over. Apparently she understands just as well as he did that she's passed his test. It's just a question of getting the time to talk to Doug.

He's currently lounging around in one of those coffee houses like Québec used to have, speaking in rapid French to Jean-Luc, a long time pal of his. They've the kind of friendship that doesn't require constant upkeep, a lazy, low maintenance bond of merely knowing that they've got each others back. Not like Doug, who is like a dog- sure it's always loyal but you gotta walk it and feed it and everything. Jean-Luc is like a boomerang.

Jean-Luc is gay, and he's often heard to disdain effeminates, because the stocky bear of a man doesn't care for sissy camp boys. He has hands so steady that Xavier is pretty sure he can't even shoot a puck because of the quick wrist flick involved. His partner is a man from South Africa, with radiant white hair and the oddest Dutch/English accent, in Nova Scotia because of the fuel industry. Xavier appreciates how quiet they are about their relationship. It almost makes him consider turning gay, because girls in his experience are nowhere the level of discretion and tacit support and warmth that these two have.

Jean-Luc smoothes his palms on his jeans absentmindedly, rolling his jaw.

"I heard from Laura," he rumbles.

"Oh?" Xavier is quieter, more deferential conversing in his native tongue than English. He laps up the last of his hangover cure- Irish coffee.

"She works in a gym now. Looking good. Better than she did in college." Jean-Luc grunts with faint amusement. "Her boss is Marley's cousin, you remember the fat one with glasses who used to steal his dad's Playboys purely for the articles?"

"And you stole them for the adverts," Xavier retorts, nodding, cracking his knucles. Jean-Luc winces.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"_That._ I hate it." Xavier remembers of course, and mockingly snaps the joint on his ring finger. The bear of a man scowls and looks away. He's very tempted to make Xavier stop but they are in public and he tends to look more like he's mugging someone than saving the ears of the world. Canada is generally a friendly place but he knows the townsfolk are tough They won't hesitate to swing their groceries over the back of his head if he looks aggressive.

"You coming to watch our practise?"

Jean-Luc considers, and Xavier waits patiently for him to decide. He flicks a crumb off the surface of the coffee table, admiring the sheen of dark wood lacquer. It's an older piece, not Ikea made, and most people don't even realise. Xavier only knows about wood because his mom dated a cross-carver briefly. Lucrative business, that.

"I am not here for long," he says, "and I am curious to see where the shadow of Les Habs falls on you. A Highlander, Xavier? Surely you must cover your ears before every game?"

Xavier grins, a slow, mocking smile. The last time they played his old team, the league under the Montreal Canadiennes, he was labelled the traitor of Quebec. But his French persona has come in quite useful over the years of being dropped into different teams. French hockey players scare the shit out of the nice American ones. Just cat call at them "c'est le fils de salope- maoin pous pous pous !" and they'll be spooked.

It's true, the bagpipes do get bloody irritating though. Doug always gets so emotional, as though the mournful drones evoke something deeper in him. Xavier just quietly endures it, feeling the pre game adrenaline and rages and internal focus settle over him like a down coat.

They agree for Jean-Luc to meet him outside the bleachers ten minutes before he has to be in and changed. Xavier walks away and heads to the gym. Some time in the last week he pulled the muscle on the inside of his knee, and while it doesn't affect his skating it means he walks a little lopsidedly, with a stiff leg. Xavier doesn't like having a lopsided gait.

Murmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmurs

Grunt and stretch, feeling the burn coiling up in his arms. Yeah yeah ok LaFlamme might have a little teensy weensy bit of a gym bunny complex. He only meant to come to loosen up his knee, and now here he is an hour later doing pull ups on the bar.

There's a massive guy with tattoos eyeing him up, unimpressed. The bouncer kind of build, like Doug would be if he didn't have such a puppy dog face and genuine grin. Xavier blows the strands of hair from his eyes with his next huff, ignoring him in return for his disdain.

He finished his rep and hops down lightly, feeling the twinge in his knee gradually work itself out. You'd think, being worth a few million dollars in contracts, that he'd be kept in pristine condition. Not so. You earn your way up to the top, and he knows what it's like to ache and bleed and tear over and over. This knee is only something he keeps noticing, keeps being aware of. His body moves differently, restrained from fully extending the leg while walking, shifting his hips ever so slightly down on one side, so his shoulder counters the motion by dipping on the other.

He grabs his bag and his water, downing the dregs so fast he doesn't taste anything other than a brief moment of coolness.

"You know if you do that, you could choke." It's the bouncer guy. His voice is gravelly, but with a pleasant inflection on the end to show he just means it as pointed comment. Xavier turns, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a quick darting movement.

"Tsank you." he says, stagnantly. He's not really sure what the guy's after.

"No problem" the bouncer guy smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes, "I recognise you from somewhere."

"I'm often on the ice," Xavier ventures, wondering if this is an old enforcer he might have whooped ass on.

"Oh everyone is, that wouldn't be it. No I think..." and he pretends to muse, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I could be wrong, but I think there's a photo of you and my sister together. She looked so much better before the baby- blond hair, shoulder length, nice eyes."

_Oh fuck._

Xavier is actually pretty mostly certain that he didn't get photos with his one night stands. The guy is lying about that. But DNA testing could easily match him- professional hockey means his data is on the database. So the idea of having a kid he spawned provably is not impossible.

Either way, he's going to deny it

"I don't know what you're tawking about but I theenk you might be mistaken, eh?" Xavier shrugs nonchalantly. The guy's face breaks into a murderous scowl. His entire bearing changes to intimidate. Xavier is used to it- hockey teaches you not to fear aggression, just injury, and right not the guy is merely showing off.

"Like hell you don't know. My sister was engaged and suddenly she was fucking pregnant. And the only other guy we couldn't account for was the guy in the photo- which is you, you arsehole!"

Xavier listens to his tirade patiently, noticing how the other occupants of the gym prick up their ears, tense at the conflict. He can't resist poking the sore point that it was his sister who did wrong since she obviously wasn't that faithful to suddenly end up pregnant, and just as it looks like it might be coming to blows and Xavier is starting to shift preparing to bolt for his health-

She appears, iPod in hand blasting some old grunge rock. Hair freshly wet and slung over her shoulders. She spots him,and Xavier has never been more grateful to see a girl come to pick a bone with him.

"Hey mister!" she calls, voice ringing through the snarls of bouncer guy, "fancy seeing you here."

"m'moiselle." he inclines his head, unable to stop the small smile break through onto his face. "And you."

The girl stops short in front of them, as though only just realising the tension, looking between the two men warily. She obviously still wants to talk to Xavier, because she turns to plead with bouncer guy and diffuse the situation.

"Could I have a word with him? Please Jim?"

The bouncer guy exchanges something wordless and primal and decapitating with her before jerking away to go find the weights. He breathes a sigh of relief, and examines the girl more closely. It's the same one who asked him to teach her to skate.

She switches off her music and drapes the headphones around her neck. Slim wrists shimmer in the light with kinds of rubber friendship bracelet (loom beads or something?) and she's dressed in a casual tracksuit hoodie and yoga pants.

"let's get out of here?" he suggests, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, since he doesn't really want to stay in the vicinity of bouncer guy. She assents, still looking at him like he's some kind of lunatic (which he kind of is, but she doesn't really need to know that). Together they collect their stuff and walk out of the gym into downtown Halifax.

"I can balance fine now," she says, after a moment of I_have_no_idea_what_to_say. Xavier stifles a grin.

"Can you go forwards yet?"

"That's still in progress."

"Guess you need a teacher."

"Yeah my last one had commitment issues."

"Preserving anonymity in this modern age of instant data sharing is very important."

"So is being a nice person," she retorts, but it lacks any bite.

"Yeah I'm sorry about that," he says, "only I'd just had a massive row with my flatmate and I was feeling pretty low. I kinda needed some space."

"I could see that. Is a whole ice rink not big enough for you?"

"m'moiselle the whole world isn't really big enough for me."

"Budding megalomaniac."

"Who isn't?"

"Fair deuce. You're on a lot of posters, you know that?"

"I try to avoid the police station. My reward doesn't specify dead or alive."

"What?"

"oh... erm it was nothing. Just a small joke." He realises he'd assumed too much of her, that she'd totally understand his thought processes and dry sense of humour. She's only what? 18? around eight years of experience, popular culture and history and slang that she cannot share with him.

He swallows and matches her stride. Left right left right left right. A bit shorter than his, makes him step heel first. He realises then, that he has no idea where they're going, and says as much.

The girl grins at him. "I work in a bookshop downtown. I'll be a little early for my shift but that's where I was headed." A pause. "Mr LaFlamme."

At his look of askance, she defends herself- "there aren't that many scorers for the Highlanders. Wikipedia gave me your name."

He hums and shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. Good. Not too much of a stalker.

Idly, he realises he has an hour for food before it's time to get down to the rink. Normally he'd get takeout with Doug but him and Eva will be doing something together no doubt, so he decides to indulge his temporary companion.

"Let's stop off at someplace for food?"

It's her turn to look shocked. He reassures her by explaining briefly that he's got to be at the rink soon and since he's out, its the easiest option.

"Does your coach make you eat special stuff?" she asks.

"Special stuff?"

"You know, like carb loading, protein shakes, multivitamins. Peak performancing food."

Oh. Xavier used to do that stuff, when he was with Montréal. Coach Hortense now just shouts at them about dealing with their man periods and how fucking proud he is of the stuff that they've got. He was on drugs for a lot of it. Still is if you count the occasional oxycontin binge. They all assume you can take care of yourself.

"nah, I'll eat pretty much anything."

"Alright, awesome! I know this fantastic little Japanese place that does genuine sashimi complete with arak..." he tunes her out and just concentrates on matching her feet perfectly, sure that whatever he's given to eat will be good enough to pay for.

Murmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmursmurmurs

**A/N: haha suggestions as to how their impromptu meal goes? Xavier is kind of getting nicer. Sort of. If you squint.**

**Thanks for reading, please review to get your take on the story heard!**

**~rememberthekey**


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